


Georgia Boys

by Momma_Time



Series: Meg's Music Trash Fics [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Crack history, Frenemies, Guitars, History what is this history, Is that a thing, Music AU, ambiguous time period, it's a start and maybe i'll add to this, non-canon AU, sorta - Freeform, sounds boring, stress strumming instead of stress eating, they still hate each other but there's a tiny bit of respect, thomas has alex stress strumming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2016-11-18
Packaged: 2018-08-31 15:21:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8583571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma_Time/pseuds/Momma_Time
Summary: So, Adam Young released Corduroy Road in October and I love the track "Georgia Boys." It made me think of Alex needing a breather and going off to hide out in the woods to play guitar to relax.I don't really specify a time period in this, and my layout of the White House's grounds is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay wrong. Just go with it because I needed a flower child Alex playing guitar in the woods.Also, playing guitar and dancing is very hard and I don't know how the people that can with ease do it. Magic, I tell you.Formally Father_Time





	

**Author's Note:**

> History? What history? You'll find none here...
> 
>  
> 
> Here's the link to that song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AnjkoxiEPs

Alexander stormed out of the cabinet meeting, furious. He planned to grab something from his office and then head out for the nearest woods to calm down. He’d run screaming if that’s what it took to get away from Jefferson. He was about one more wisecrack away from punching the man, and Alexander was already in trouble with Washington. The president was ready to send Alexander on an extended vacation for his temper.

Grabbing a large case from behind his desk, Alexander locked his office behind him and then rushed out of the building. The gardens out back extended far out into an undeveloped area that Alexander sometimes wandered into to get away. After living outside for so often during the war, there was something about being outside that felt like home. Despite his need to stay busy, Alexander could appreciate a moment of solitude now and then.

When he got to the woods, Alexander wandered in, making for his favorite spot. There was a fallen log there in a tiny, open space that was still comfortably shaded. It was on the log that he set the case down. He removed his coat, removed his waistcoat, and slipped his shoes and socks off to get comfortable before he started. With how quiet his was about certain aspects of his life, few knew that Alexander had a guitar and played well. During the war, it was a nice way of spending down time when everyone needed something to lift their spirits. He always downplayed it, tried to be a presence that wasn’t really there. If he didn’t make a big deal of it, no one else would. The guitar he had now was different from the one he had then. When that winter came, and they were desperate for warmth, Alexander used it as a last resort source of kindling; it was better than freezing to death. Lafayette, bless him, had a new one made for Alexander after the war as a sort of “thank you for serving at my side” gift.

He didn’t play for others anymore, kept his talent to himself. Alexander prided himself on his skill with a pen and a guitar.

He did a quick tuning, and after a few plucks on one string to check the sound, he launched into a song he’d played years ago. His fingers still knew the motions and strings, and he fell into one of his favorites, eyes closed as he paced, light steps hardly making a crunch over the pine straw and leaves. Alexander began to whistle along, started to sway as he circled the small clearing. The music took him to another world when he got into it. Nothing else mattered but him and the notes that danced around him, conjuring up memories, good and bad.

This melody was haunting in its own way, simple but still holding the driving beat that left Alex feeling like he was on horseback, racing his dearest friend John during the war when they had a few moments of peace. Trot, trot, trot, now that you're on the starting line, kick it into gear and take off. The wind in your hair, the feel of the horse thumping under you as you lean forward to lessen the air resistance. Alexander usually won, as he was much smaller than John, making himself a lighter load to carry. John denied that it was Alexander's size and that it was the horse. To prove his point, Alexander swapped horses with John, and they tried again, only to have similar results. Their bickering afterward was just another thing on the list of stuff that exasperated their general, but who said nothing, knowing that the boys needed something to make them smile.

The first time the music switched back to something calm and soothing, Alexander began to turn every once in a while, growing closer to more of a dance than dull pacing. It reminded him of the one and only time he made a big deal of his music. Everyone was drunk, celebrating Lafayette's birthday, and cutting the fool late into the night. Alexander didn't remember everything, but he remembered being part of the catalyst for everyone in the tavern dancing around and having the first moment of decent fun than they had in a long time. It had been fast paced, rowdy and loud, and Alexander had treasured that night, or what he could remember of it.

The racing tempo shifted his imagination to the thrill of debating. It didn't matter if it was with Hercules, John, or even Jefferson; something was exhilarating about the mental exercise. The heat of the argument would build, culminating in an explosion of passion and, surprisingly, joy. Alexander wouldn't admit it out loud, but he found the excitement of a real debate more pleasurable than bedding anyone. Yes, the thrill of a frolic between the sheets was incredible, but it didn't hold a candle to the intensity of aiming your thoughts, passions, beliefs, and desires at someone.

The song switched back to a soft and straightforward plucking of the strings; nothing became a full strum for the next verse. Alexander started to whistle again, only to jump back into a faster, more passionate fortissimo, a moment where he could sing along with a line that wove in and out and around the main melody.

In the beginning, he had paced, swaying as he walked, but the further into the song he went, the closer to dancing he came, until by the final verse, Alexander was spinning and skipping and smiling, losing himself in the music as he reminisced about his life and his origins. So many things had happened in his life, that had dragged him forward to the life he had now. Alexander could never have imagined that he would end up with this position, working alongside the most powerful man in the country. If his mother were still alive, Alexander knew she'd be proud of him for making something of himself, rising above anything his father could have been, damn him for leaving. He would have ensured that she was taken care of, treasured her for existing and influencing who he became.

When the song drew to a close, faded back into the staccato plucking and whistling, Alexander slowed his movements to a stop, letting the final notes fade on their own. He opened his eyes to find the last sight he wanted to see.

Jefferson was standing there, coat hanging over his arm to avoid the stifling heat as he stared at Alexander thoughtfully. Neither said a word and neither dropped their gaze. Alexander felt his face warming and knew that the blush would light up his light olive skin. He was embarrassed to be seen like this, alone and dancing to whatever music he made for himself as he forced himself to unwind. Despite his embarrassment and the blush, Alexander refused to look sheepish for a secret passion of his.

Jefferson broke the silence first, clasping his hand over the wrist of the arm he'd hung his coat, "I never knew you could play."

"I don't like people knowing. After coming to America, I didn't play for anyone until I joined the war efforts." Alexander paused for a moment, thinking of his next words; he weighed them for what would be used against him later and what wouldn't. Part of him thought, to hell with it, he didn't know when to be quiet anyway. "Even then, I didn't make a huge deal of it, so no one else did either, and when I was a kid, sometimes it paid for dinner...now, I take my frustrations out on it after you've vexed me in whatever argument we've been in."

Alexander slid the guitar strap over his head and turned away from Jefferson's studious eyes to store it back in its case. Don't make a big deal of it, and no one else will either. After it was locked away, Alexander dropped down to sit on the log. He brushed the bottoms of his feet to remove the dirt and brush so that he could put his socks and shoes back on.

"Jefferson, I would appreciate it if you did not share this with anyone." He looked up at his political enemy as he did up his shoes and then fixed the band holding his hair back. And as much as it would pain him to say, Alexander knew that he would have to do everything he could to keep this quiet. Questions about why he had to play to get enough money for dinner would shift to questions about his background and where he was from, and Alexander feared that he would lose his credibility. "Please."

Jefferson seemed to consider it a moment more before nodding and joining Alexander on the log, "I will, but only if we can trade stories about our childhoods. And, I would like it if you called my by my first name when it's just us..."

Alexander snorted, "You must understand that I do not trust any bargains you attempt to make with me, especially when it applies to such sensitive...content."

"Then shall I go first?"  When Alexander nodded, Thomas took a steadying breath, ready to start, only for thunder to rumble above them. He noticed Alexander startle and nearly made a crack about it, but held his tongue for the time being. Getting to his feet, Thomas offered Alexander, a hand. "Another time then?"

"How do I know you won't tell anyone what you witnessed here?" Alexander didn't take the offered hand, not yet.

"This is a personal matter, and while some stories would bring me joy to bring to light, this would haunt me if I spoke of it."

"You have a heart? Does this mean you'll free your slaves?" Alexander teased, sort of.

Thomas deadpanned, "Not a chance, street-rat."

Alexander would work on him, maybe bring him around, but for now, he took the offered hand and the small peace of mind that his secrets would remain so for now. "Thank you, Thomas."

Another roll of thunder sounded above them, and this time, Thomas was quicker to steer them towards the white house. He didn't want to ruin his clothes, now did he?


End file.
